


Coffee

by FidotheFinch



Series: Comfort Food [2]
Category: Maximum Ride - James Patterson
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch
Summary: When Max wakes up, Jeb is gone. The only thing he left is a mug of cold coffee.





	Coffee

Fang swung Max’s door open carefully after she didn’t reply to his knock. He blinked in surprise when he saw that she was still in bed. Max was usually the first to rise in the mornings, after Jeb. He stood just inside her door, listening for her breath. She breathed deep and even. Still asleep.

“Max?” he whispered, venturing closer. She would want to be awake; she liked watching the sun rise. When he reached her bed and she still hadn’t stirred, he tried again. “Max, wake up.”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.

His heart beating faster, he rested a hand on her shoulder and abandoned his whisper. “Max. Wake up.”

She bolted upright, clacking her head against Fang’s in the process. “Ow.” And she plopped backwards again.

He didn’t say anything, only winced and prodded the reddened area on his forehead.

Max opened her eyes again, slowly, and startled. “Fang? What time is it?” She began scrambling clumsily out of bed. “Where’s Jeb? I gotta-oomph!” she cut herself off when her foot, caught in a sheet, tripped her.

Fang stepped in and caught her easily. “Gone.”

She scrunched her nose. “Gone?”

Fang only shrugged, but Max could see the slight creasing between his brows. “Gone, gone?” He shrugged again, helping her back onto the bed. He watched as Max sank into her pillows, eyelids beginning to drift shut.

Something was wrong.

After deliberating a moment, Fang pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

Max peered at him through lidded eyes. “Fang? What’re you doing?”

“Are you sick?”

She blinked. Twice. “We don’t get sick.”

He crossed his arms. “Are you sick?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Just,” she yawned, “drowsy.” When Fang didn’t stop staring, clearly waiting for further explanation, she snorted. “And a headache, okay? I’m fine.”

“You tripped.”

“I got tangled in the sheets. It’s happened before.”

His look told her that he knew it had not. She yawned again. “Just let me sleep another hour. I woke up last night. . . “

At that, Fang’s concern grew. The only reason she would wake up at night was because of a nightmare, and he always heard her when she got out of bed. Why didn’t he hear anything last night?

Max’s face had tightened to mirror Fang’s. “At least, I think I did. But I don’t remember. . . maybe it was just a dream?” She sounded like she was assuring herself more than Fang. As he was standing, he began to feel his own drowsiness fighting back into his awareness from where he had wrestled it down earlier in the morning.

There was a sudden cry from the girls’ bedroom. “Max!”

Both birdkids were out of the room in a second, concerns forgotten in the face of whatever had Angel so frightened. They arrived to the room she shared with Nudge to find the girl huddled into a ball, clutching her stomach. Her small frame gave a single heave, and Fang’s eyes widened a minute fraction before he raced out the door in search of a bucket.

Despite the Flock’s inability to catch diseases, their immune systems did nothing to protect from food poisoning. They were too-well acquainted with long nights hugging the porcelain throne.

Max knelt by Angel’s bed and gently swept Angel’s hair out of her face. “Sh, it’s okay. Breathe. Fang’s coming right back with a bucket.”

Angel nodded stiffly, silent tears streaming down her young face. “How do I make the walls hold still?” she whimpered.

Max frowned and pressed the back of her hand against Angel’s forehead, much like Fang had done with her. No fever, obviously, but sometimes it felt good to have something grounding you. “Nudge, could you soak a washcloth for Angel?”

No reply from across the room. Max sighed. Nudge was always the heaviest sleeper among them. She raised her voice a fraction. “Nudge?” This time, she was answered with a snore.

Fang returned with a bucket, which he placed next to Angel’s bed just in time for her to start heaving in earnest. Max rubbed her back. “Of all times for Jeb to leave,” she muttered. “Fang, could you check on Nudge?”

He nodded, walking over silently to rest a hand on Nudge’s shoulder. “Nudge,” he called, louder than he would have started with any of the other Flock members. Her eyelashes fluttered, but otherwise made no attempt at opening.

Concerned, Fang reached for Max’s hand to get her attention. She looked up from where she was holding back Angel’s hair and paled. “She’s not waking up?”

Fang shook his head.

“We need to—“ she was cut off when Angel heaved again, and Max cooed at her until her sobs slowed down. “Iggy and Gazzy.”

Fang nodded once and he was out the door. Iggy and Gazzy shared a room down the hall. Fang frowned at the shut door. They never shut their door completely; none of them did. He was thankful to find it wasn’t locked, because the last time he broke a door down Jeb had been livid.

“Wake up,” he said, not bothering with formalities.

Iggy sprang upright immediately, hands clutching the sheets with a white-knuckle grip. “What is it?”

“Gazzy,” Fang said. The younger boy had only rolled over. Fang shook him none-too-gently.

“Uh, Fang,” Gazzy mumbled. “Stop. I’m sleepy.”

Iggy made a face. “You sound drunk.”

Fang and Iggy made the connection at the same time. Iggy froze, eyes widening. “We were drugged,” they said in tandem.

At that, Gazzy attempted to open his eyes. “Drugs?”

Fang placed a hand on Gazzy’s shoulder in a silent command to stay in bed. “Iggy, can you walk?”

“Yeah, I think so.” The lankier boy swept his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed up shakily. “Where’s Max?”

“With the girls.”

“Oh no, they’re not—“

“Angel’s sick. Nudge is asleep.”

“I’ll get some water. You got Gazzy?”

“Yes.”

Iggy left, and Fang picked Gazzy up bridal-style to only a little bit of protesting. The boy used to love being carried around, especially on shoulders so he could be tall, but in recent months had decided it was too childish for him. He made his way back to the girl’s room and laid him next to Nudge on her bed.

“We’ve been drugged,” Max whispered at him when he came in. Fang only nodded.

Iggy came in a few seconds later with a glass of water.

Angel gurgled and spat some in the bucket before drinking greedily. “Who would drug us?” she asked when she had finished the cup.

Max’s eyes cut to the window in the room. “Fang, stay here. I’ll go investigate.” But when she started to stand, she was off-balance again.

Fang steadied her with a hand on her elbow, eyebrow raised.

Max huffed. “Shut up.”

“Iggy,” Fang called, one foot out the doorway. Iggy followed him out into the main living space.

They found nothing. The windows and doors were shut and locked. The living room was precisely as messy as they had left it the night before. The kitchen sink was still full of the dishes Jeb had insisted they use for the milk and cookies they had had last night. There were no mysterious footprints in the snow outside, only Jeb’s from leaving early in the morning for groceries. Iggy found a mug of cold coffee in Jeb’s office that was still mostly full.

When he told as much to Max, it was with a grim face. “The only person who could have drugged us would be—“

“No.” Max crossed her arms. “He wouldn’t.”

“Max,” Fang intervened.

“No, Fang!”

Angel’s face fell at the implication. “Why would Jeb drug us?”

“He didn’t, sweetie.”

“That’s what Fang and Iggy think.” She scrunched her nose. “Iggy thought the milk tasted weird last night but he didn’t say anything.”

“Angel, we’ve talked about privacy.”

“I know.” Angel looked sheepishly toward Iggy. “Sorry for invading your brain privacy, Iggy.”

“I forgive you,” Iggy said, careful to keep his frustration with Max out of his reply to Angel. “Max, stop deflecting.”

“Okay, we’ll pretend that Jeb—the only person in the whole world who knows where we are, the only person who knows who we are, helped us escape from the labs where we were created, and by default knows how much we hate medications and drugs—drugged us. Why would he do it?”

That made them quiet. But just when Max started to smirk in triumph, Fang stepped forward.

“He left.”

All eyes snapped to him. “He’s gone?” Angel asked in a small voice.

Max bit her lip. It made sense. “Except he wouldn’t do that to us. He wouldn’t just leave without warning.”

“He knew we would try to stop him,” Iggy said.

“No!” Max stood up, her anger giving her the stability she had been lacking. “He’s coming back. I’ll prove it!” She stomped out of the room and slammed the door.

Angel began weeping. Fang nudged Iggy in her direction—and Nudge’s, because her eyes were starting to flutter open—and he followed Max for damage control.

He found her in Jeb’s office. Sitting in his chair, staring at the cold cup of coffee on his desk.

“It’s still full,” she muttered. She didn’t have to look back to know who it was that had followed her. “He wouldn’t just leave it.” Her knees propped up on the edge of the chair and her arms snaked around to hug them.

Fang leaned against the edge of the desk.

“I remember when he made this coffee,” Max whispered. “Last night. But the rest is. . . fuzzy.”

Fang grunted in response. “Drugs.”

Max’s eyes fluttered shut. She took a long, deep inhale, and slowly let it out. Just like Jeb taught them all to do. When she finished, her eyes opened harder than they had shut. “I need some coffee.”

Fang snorted, because none of the Flock liked coffee. Jeb didn’t let them drink it, anyway. “I’ll make it.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Flock spent the day in the living room, dozing off the lingering effects of the drugs Jeb had given them. The three youngest had monopoly of the couch, but for once nobody complained. Iggy sat by the window on the east side, Fang by the window on the north side, and Max by the door. The television was left on whatever channel it had been on when they turned it on, and now the only sound in the room was Marcy MacCarcy debating whether to pick the cream or vanilla-colored wedding dress.

And the coffee pot, rumbling away in the kitchen.

Each of the older kids had a mug in their hands, but Max was the only one who managed to down more than a few sips of hers. She was on her third mug, and she wasn’t sure whether the jittery feeling in her hands was caused by the caffeine or something else. At 1 in the morning, the watch that Iggy had left in his room beeped. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to startle the three oldest bird kids from their trances.

“What time?” Max asked.

“One,” Iggy replied grimly.

Fang didn’t say anything, but held a finger over his lips and pointed toward the couch. Angel was curled up so her head was in Nudge’s lap and the rest of her body flung over Gazzy’s like a blanket. Gazzy’s head was leaned on Nudge’s shoulder, and Nudge’s head flung back over the back of the couch. All three dead asleep.

Max stood and stretched, casting one cursory glance over her shoulder out the door. The heat behind it was startling; she was daring somebody to try to come after them now. “I’ll take first watch.”

They were the only words spoken, but Fang and Iggy jumped in to help her carry the kids to their beds. Iggy remained in his room with Gazzy, but Fang followed Max back out to the living room after.

“Give me the coffee.”

Max’s grip reflexively tightened on the handle. “Why?”

“You have to sleep.”

Max shook her head. “No, I have to watch. What if something happens and I’m not alert enough?”

“You will be.”

Max let her grip loosen enough the mug fell into Fang’s waiting hand. He set it on the counter in the kitchen. “Two hours,” he reminded her, on his way to bed.

She nodded, and Fang made his way to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at his door he wouldn’t have heard had he been sleeping. Max barely cracked it open before Fang was on his feet on the other side. He silently followed her to the living room—the room with the most vantage points—and they sat on the couch.

She sank into the cushions, looking more relaxed than she had all day. They made it through the entire night like that, not a word passed between them.


End file.
